UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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She tried to go down one of the back hallways after the game.
I didn’t figure it’d be hard to stop her. Two words and she’d turn and pounce on me. But when I threw open the doors and called out her name, she looked over her shoulder, eyes wide, like she was afraid I was the one going to kill her.
And then she ran.
I chased her. I guess being a cheerleader had its perks—she was in better shape than me. But I knew where she was going. When we hit an intersection, Celia turned right and I kept going straight. I came out on the west side of the school, jumped down the handicap entrance ramp, and made it to the northwest corner in time to catch Celia in the stomach with my arm. My momentum slammed her into the wall.
“Stop . . . running . . .” I said, panting. She glared at me, rubbing the shoulder that had hit the brick.
“I . . . have to . . . ask you something. . . .”
“So ask me,” she snarled.
I took a deep breath. “McCoy. What’s going on . . . with McCoy?”
Celia’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, I know about your mom. And I know about McCoy. I know he calls you down to his office all the time, and he’s obsessed. If . . . if he’s doing something, you should tell someone about it.”
For half a second, real recognition flashed across Celia’s face. But then her expression twisted and she bared her teeth.
“You don’t know anything about me.” She pushed me back. “Get out of my face. And don’t mention Rich Dick McCoy or my mom to me again.”
She shoulder checked me hard enough to make me stumble backward and almost lose my footing. I thought about following her again, questioning her until she admitted that something was going on, that she needed help, but I already knew.
I’d taken something she loved. She would never trust me.